Out of the Ashes
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: "She's grateful that she doesn't have to be alone." Ariadne and Arthur watch together from Cobb's loft as the Notre Dame burns. My tribute to the cathedral.


Christopher Nolan said that he intended _Inception_ as a contemporary film, but since he never specified exactly _how_ contemporary, I've decided that it's set right now. After seeing the Notre-Dame in Paris burning yesterday, I felt compelled to write something. I hope you'll enjoy.

* * *

Ariadne doesn't know how long she stares out the window, too stunned to speak or even really comprehend. It's approaching sunset, the most beautiful time of day, and she's standing at the window with the most beautiful view in Cobb's loft, the one facing south towards the Ile de la Cite. Ariadne has been working here with Cobb and his team for almost a month, but the window has never framed a view like_ this_ before.

Relief washes over her with a pleasant warmth when she realizes what must actually be going on. She doesn't remember falling asleep, but this _has_ to be a dream. The Notre-Dame cathedral isn't _really_ on fire. It's just a dream, and the fire probably represents her fear about their upcoming job on Fischer.

She's smiling as she pulls her totem from her pocket... but the smile freezes on her face, then disappears, as she shifts the chess piece in her clammy hand. It feels right. The bishop's one-sided weight, its uneven balance, are exactly right, just like when she's awake. Ariadne runs one hand through her long brown hair and takes a deep breath. Is she really awake right now?

"Hey, Arthur," she calls to him. "Can you check your totem?" She and Arthur happen to be the only ones here right now, double-checking the model of Fischer's dreamscape. Yusuf went out to buy more ingredients for Somnacin, and Cobb, in another one of his moods, left earlier without a word to anyone.

"Yeah, sure," Arthur calls back from the other room, then, "I'm awake. Why?"

But Ariadne doesn't answer him. She doesn't want to describe what she sees through the window and make it real. Arthur can sense that something is wrong, and he comes in from the other room, absently sliding the Edith Piaf record back into its case. "Ardiane? What's wr–" he starts to ask, but he stops abruptly, and the record in his hand clatters to the floor, when he sees the Notre-Dame. "God... what..." But he's too shocked to say anything more.

"It-it's the Notre-Dame," Ariadne answers, her voice shaking. She glances down at the newsfeed on her phone –_ Breaking News: The Notre-Dame of Paris is on fire_ – then looks back out the window, even though the view is so horrible that almost can't bear it.

Arthur checks his totem again, still hoping that this is just a dream. "Damn," he swears loudly, when his totem proves that this is really happening.

"What should we do?" Ariadne asks, her wide brown eyes tracking the black, billowy plumes of smoke spreading over Paris. "Should we... do something?"

Arthur opens and closes his mouth, looking as miserably helpless as Ariadne feels. "I don't know. We could... uh, we could call Cobb, let him know."

But Ariadne shakes her head; one of the first rules of architecture is to never put pressure on an unsound structure, and Cobb definitely isn't a sound structure. Besides, this doesn't have anything to do with their work.

They meet each other's eyes with a kind of sad despair as they realize that there's nothing they can do, except watch and bear witness to the destruction. They stand at the window together, their work on Fischer forgotten, and watch as the fire consumes the Notre-Dame. Down the street, Ariadne can see an elderly couple on a curb, staring and pointing towards the cathedral, their mouths hanging open in horror. Near them, another couple, two young men, are staring from atop a parked car, their arms around each other. It seems that even the Parisians, whom Ariadne's found so snobby and stand-offish since she arrived in the city, don't want to be alone right now.

She's mortified when she feels the tears in her eyes, and at first, she tries to blink them back, turning her face slightly away from Arthur so he won't notice. But holding back her tears becomes impossible as the cathedral continues to burn in the Paris twilight. The flames lick higher and higher up the Notre-Dame's sleek spire – like the tongue of some horrible monster – and when the spire crumbles and collapses, a cry goes up from those watching from those watching on the cramped city streets below, on the docks and bridges along the Seine, on the balconies and windows near Ariadne and Arthur. All of Paris seems to cry out to heaven in that moment when the spire falls to earth.

That's when Ariadne stops trying to hold back her tears. Arthur says nothing, but he moves closer to her and takes her hand in his. Ariadne squeezes his hand like her life depends on it, happier than she can ever say that he's there with her, that she doesn't have to watch this alone. She isn't a religious person at all, but...

"All that _architecture_," she gets out, gasping, through her sobs. "All that _history_." She knows from her classes that parts of the Notre-Dame's structure are – _were_ – almost a thousand years old. Will there be anything of it left after tonight?

Arthur goes into mother-hen mode then, and Ariadne is grateful. He arranges two chairs in front of the window, drapes a blanket over Ariadne's shoulders, and brews them both tea, which they sip as they sit and watch the fire against the darkening sky, like some kind of strange, terrible movie. Arthur doesn't say much – what is there to say? – but just his presence is comforting to Ariadne. As the night drags on and her eyelids grow tired, her thoughts drift to Cobb. She looks at Arthur and suddenly, she thinks that she can understand, in some small way, why Cobb has never gotten over his wife's death.


End file.
